Vania Álvarez
Losing Sleep
Vania Álvarez
My right shoulder is almost numb ; a million red ants stomping rhythmically on it , leaving , it seems , the reddish liquid to hastily spill over my limp arm . The dry path my feet march on leaves a rising cloud of dust behind me . The dust prohibits even the finest eyesight from passing through . Light has hidden behind the raucous shelves of concrete , and it is here that I encounter the moon with an inconceivable proximity , appearing to glow as twenty thousand candles do , in a dark room . I shiver inconsolably ; appalled by such beauty , amazed by the despair of its loneliness ; wide eyed , I stare . Emerging from the exposed daze of convalescence , it blinks ; once , twice , and it whispers to me in the loveliest manner . Ever so slightly , caressing the edge of insanity , it tempts the birds to fly high , and never come back . Their docile nature prevents them from soaring . They are bent on forgetting what pulses beneath , and so become raveled in the irretrievable madness of illusion . The thin stroke that defines the murmur of existence and the luring sound of creation . That silence resonates over the void that seems to remain frozen for eternity , and I hear the tender voice that tickles my skin once again . Enticing an enchanting somnolence that tells me to remember the warm brightness of the sun , and the gentle embrace of raindrops , for there will come a time when I will need their comfort .
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